"Forecast: Unseasonably cold."

You, you are the gargoyle engraved
six feet into the Cathedral's skin;
fixed, overlooking the scenery of Monroe park.
Fools are rushin' rushin' around;
the weather weathers them down,
you sit silent and watch.

Their umbrellas dance to the sound of raindrops dying.

A midday sun escapes from its cloudy cage
and every shadow holds its breath.
Petals bow and a stalks sway;
the wind knows no death.

Ancient trees wrestle the sky
as hardened humans heave heavy souls;
too enslaved to chisel down their lives
they fight over fool's gold.

Their umbrellas die to the sight of raindrops hiding.
Still, you are not Sunnyside up:

If only they would rotate their free wills well
and dispatch into life, leading.
If only you could escape that stifling shell
and hatch into a heavenly being.

But indulgence is a discontinued sale; they never will, you never will.

You, the monstrous yet marvelous, grudgingly gaze
as their eyes, now swallowed by sunshades,
skim over the beauty of this scripted day,
ignore the position of each actor onstage
and forget that life is but a play inside the Playwright's Play.

Even so, you know the sparrow
will sing its redemption song
as bones descend at dusk.
Spirits will ascend at dawn
as humans keep building up.

Their buildings may fall
as the earth absorbs it all.
Yet your building will fall
as the earth absorbs it all.

Trees

We are trees weathered by the seasons of life;
Rooted in earth, always reaching for sunlight.

Our relationships bud, flourish and fall,
but memories are evergreen decoration.

Heartwood dreams leave us gorgeously scarred;
living for Life is the richest sensation.

We are trees polished by the seasons of life;
rooted in each other, always reaching for starlight.

-R.Gibson

Heavenly Attractions

(A dream I had on September 20th)


I was standing in my grandmother’s backyard when I saw another moon eclipsing our moon. It happened second by second. I told Matt and Tristan to look. But they couldn’t see it. I tried to take a picture through my camera but it was unreliable. The eclipse was over; the second moon slipped into a hidden pocket in the sky. I pondered on this bizarreness.

I wanted to go to the root of this nonsense. Tristan, with his know every human being on Earth self, referred me to a lady that could take me to outer space. Matt, with his overly curious and adventurous self, tagged along. I remember the process being quick; we hopped in the ship and within 5 minutes we were up there.

She dropped us off into a beautiful sight. We were above everything. Earth was the same as my elementary school depictions: a carefully drawn sphere circled by a necklace of dotted lines looped through the moon. Right there, I saw the other moon I saw from earth. What was it doing in our orbit? I reached to take it down. I tried to touch it but it pushed me into a spiraling frenzy and spun away into the abyss.

Helpless and silly, I twirled into the orbital wires connecting the earth and moon. I messed everything up but wouldn’t witness its affects until I got back to Earth. I was tangled in the wires, holding onto a half-opened manila folder with pictures of myself and an empty CD case. There was a blank CD in my back pocket.

I remembered I was in space so I knew I wasn’t supposed to breathe. I panicked. I started taking shorter breaths but I didn’t die. I kept breathing.

Suddenly, Matt appeared again. We were floating about the atmosphere. We were right above the last layer of clouds covering the Earth, but far enough to see it in its entirety. Maybe it was heaven.

I swam towards the pole sticking up out of the clouds that held the Moon up from the Earth. I reached for it with my right hand and caught hold to it. Surprisingly, it was cold enough to grip like any other pole in the wintertime.

He told me to hold onto my stuff or it would get sucked into Earth’s gravitational pull and rain down like hellfire. I asked “If I leave it up here, will future generations find my pictures and music as artifacts?” He answered, “I don’t know.”

We looked away from our conversation, astonished by the scenery. Beyond us, to my left and his right, was a horizonless field of red stars and meteors. We kept turning. The moon was a light hanging perpendicular to the pole I clenched. Next was the Earth: a swirl of green and blue, powdered with clouds, sided by a cold blinding sun.

We froze to a wooden bench under the pole. Matt pulled out his iPhone. He called up the lady; it was time to go home.

some type of sketchiness

So. Word is that the artwork artists upload on the internet is automatically stolen and stored into a super database for iRobots to eventually randomize styles of every artist who has stepped foot on this earth to make super masterpieces in a matter of seconds; thus, the role of "visual artist" will be made obsolete. Until that day, I will keep posting mine. Enjoy!

Dont think.

"Don't think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It's self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can't try to do things. You simply must do things."

--Ray Douglas Bradbury

"HOLD UP"

"Caits (Caitlin) Meissner is a poet, performer, educator and graphic designer with a BFA from Pratt Institute.

And that was all I needed to know.

rawkstar!!!

ink x digital coloring=mus(e)ic to my eyes